


Torment

by givebackmylifecas



Series: Quote Inspirations [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean is a Sweetheart, Depressed Castiel, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 09:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9999857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas
Summary: “Oh Cas.”, he hears Dean whisper. “What have you done to yourself, sweetheart?”Cas stays silent as Dean gently dabs at the cuts with antiseptic and then carefully bandages them with fresh, white cotton.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings for: Self-Harm (It's not super graphic, but I do describe cutting), Depression
> 
> Inspired by this quote by Franz Kafka: “Torment yourself as little as possible, then you’ll torment me less”

When Cas wakes up, the first thing he notices is that the space next to him in the bed is empty. Dean is gone.

 

He should have known. Should have known that one night is all he would get. After all he had done, he was lucky to even have gotten that much. He slides out of Dean’s bed and pulls on the pyjama bottoms Sam had bought him when they realised that his grace wasn’t going to just recharge, when they realised he was human permanently.

 

It had been two months and Cas still had to remind himself that he couldn’t heal with just a touch. That he couldn’t fly like he used to. That he couldn’t do anything, really.

The more he thought about it, the more fitting the punishment seemed. He had taken and taken and claimed it was all for the greater good, and now he had had everything taken from him. He had nothing – and it was no more than he deserved.

 

It was harder to cope with in the evenings, when his body was tired and his shoulders ached with the phantom pain of missing limbs and his head throbbed with the pain and anguish he had brought those he loved. Dean tried to help, rubbed his shoulders, brought him hot compresses – but nothing helped. Not until last night, when he had replaced the hands that were gently caressing Cas’ shoulder blades with hot kisses up and down his neck. Somehow they had ended up in Dean’s bed, with him whispering words of comfort into Cas’ hair and Cas’ limbs wrapped around him like he thought Dean would float away if he didn’t hold onto him.

It was the first time Cas had been happy since the Fall. But now he understood, it was more than he had deserved.

 

He pads down the Bunker’s silent hallways, and into the bathroom. He would clean up and then he would leave. Dean didn’t deserve to have him around, as a constant reminder of a mistake he had made, one night when he was feeling lonely.

 

As Cas enters the shower room, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and shudders. He doesn’t blame Dean for leaving. After all, who would want to stay so close to someone like him?

There was a time he had stood taller than a skyscraper, magnificent and awe-inspiring. Now he just looked pathetic. He had become thinner in the last months, his skin paler from lack of sunlight, and the skin under his eyes was a bruised purple colour from lack of sleep.

 

All of a sudden, he is overwhelmed by just how disgusting he looks and he can’t bear to see it any longer. Before he knows it, he has raised a fist and smashed it into the mirror. The mirror shatters into too many pieces for him to count, and when he tries to gather them up, he just creates an even bigger mess. The razor-sharp shards cut into his palms and blood cascades down his arms and onto the floor-tiles.

 

Dimly, he notes that he should be feeling something – pain perhaps – but all he feels is empty. He is aware that he should stop bleeding on the tiles, so he stumbles into one of the showers, still clutching one of the pieces of mirror. He turns the faucet and suddenly hot water is pouring out of the head and onto him, drenching him and making him realise that he never took off his pyjamas.

He doesn’t move for a long time. In the shower, in the small tile and glass box, he can pretend that the world doesn't exist, that his tears are just water from the burning hot shower. He should lower the temperature but he feels like he hasn't been warm in years. He crouches under the scalding spray, relishing the sting of the over-heated water on his skin, feeling it ground him in reality.

In his head, all he can hear are the anguished cries of those he betrayed, the brothers and sisters he killed without a second thought. He can hear them screaming, begging for mercy. He needs it to stop, he can’t listen to them any longer. Please leave me alone, he begs, digging his fingernails into his knee. The voices falter briefly at the flash of pain, but then pick up right where they left off. He shifts under the scalding spray and his foot nudges a piece of mirror. He must have dropped it at some point. He picks it up off the floor, relishing the brief sting as his hand grips the shard of glass too tightly.

 

He barely feels the first cut, the shard dragging across his arm in a quick, precise movement. In fact, he doesn’t feel anything until the fifth cut, and he only registers that because the voices have stopped screaming in his head. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this, this isn’t what normal humans do – but as much as he knows he needs to be punished by those he has wronged, he needs a brief respite from those tormented voices.

 

It isn’t the first time he has done this, it was when he cut himself shaving, that he figured out just how much of a distraction pain could be. So he makes another cut. Again, and again until the water pooling at the bottom of the slightly clogged shower, is a pale pink and the voices seem like a distant memory.

 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, making cut after cut, the water beating down on him. He doesn’t know anything anymore. Until he realises the door to the bathroom has been opened and the shower turned off and someone is cradling his face in their hands.

“Cas?” He hears the person calling his name, tilting his chin, forcing him to look up. The person, he realises, is Dean.

“Dean, it’s alright. I’m going.”, he mutters. If Dean is back, it means his time in the Bunker is up. He needs to get his few items of clothing and leave. He tries to push himself upright, but finds his legs won’t support him.

 

Dean won’t let him get up. “Cas, buddy, where do you think you’re going?”

Cas shakes his head, it feels fuzzy, he can’t concentrate. “I have to go. I need to..”

Dean grasps him, one arm around his waist, one underneath his knees and picks him up bridal-style. “The only thing you need to do right now, is let me patch you up.” Dean says as he takes Cas back to his bedroom. He deposits him on the bed and pulls a first-aid kit from one of his desk drawers.

 

He gently takes one of Cas’ hands and gets him to straighten out his arms. For the first time since he began to cut, Cas properly looks at himself. Both arms are littered with horizontal cuts that are oozing blood, which is dripping down onto Dean’s bedspread.

“Oh Cas.”, he hears Dean whisper. “What have you done to yourself, sweetheart?”

Cas stays silent as Dean gently dabs at the cuts with antiseptic and then carefully bandages them with fresh, white cotton.

 

“Your bed.” Cas eventually says, nodding at the dark stains his blood has made on the pale blue sheets. “I’m sorry.”

Dean has finished bandaging and reaches out to stroke one hand down the side of Cas’ face. “It doesn’t matter Cas, nothing does. Nothing except you.”

Cas turns away from his touch. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve Dean’s kind words and his soft touches.

“Yes you do, Cas. You deserve everything.”, Dean says, and Cas tilts his head in confusion. A small smile spreads across Dean’s face. “You were talking out loud, sweetheart.”

Cas looks away from him, he can’t bear to see Dean’s face, after all he has done to him, why is Dean still here?

 

“Thank you for treating my wounds. But I should go now.”, he says stiffly, once again trying to get up to leave – and once again being pushed back down by Dean.

Dean’s hand remains on his chest and his other hand is gently pushing Cas’ chin up, so he can look him in the eye.

“You aren’t going anywhere, Cas, I need you here.”

Cas sighs. “I appreciate that you are trying to make me feel better, but do not lie to me. I am not needed, I am useless Dean.”

Both of Dean’s hands are now gripping the sides of Cas’ face. “I thought after yesterday… Look, I know I’m not great with words, but last night… That was me telling you Cas. I need you. I need you and I can’t live without you, because… well, I know I should have said it sooner, but I love you, Cas. A part of me thinks I always have.”

“No, Dean.” Cas shakes his head. “You can’t possibly...”

“But I do, Cas. I love you. Now that I’ve said it, I’ll never stop saying it. I need you Cas, so I need you to stop hurting yourself.”

“Why? It hurts me, not you, Dean.”

“No it doesn’t. Seeing you like this, you think it doesn’t hurt? When I saw you sitting in the shower, I thought… I thought you were dead, Cas. Do you know what that would do to me? I need you to promise that you won’t hurt yourself. I’ll help you, but you need to stop.” Dean’s voice breaks on the last words and Cas sees that his green eyes are swimming with tears. He had never cried like this before, the tears spill over and suddenly Dean is clutching him to his chest and Cas is sobbing into his shoulder, apologising over and over again.

 

Dean just holds him and whispers that it will all be alright. Eventually he can’t cry anymore and he manages to wrench himself away from Dean, mentally and physically exhausted.

“If I go to sleep now, will you be there when I wake up?”, he asks Dean, almost afraid of the answer.

Dean strokes his hair and helps him lower himself properly onto the bed. “Yes Cas, I’m not leaving you.”

Cas closes his eyes and feels Dean cover them both with a blanket, before wrapping his arms around Cas and pulling him as close as he could physically get. Cas buries his face in Dean’s chest and drifts off into an uneasy sleep.

 

Sure enough, when he wakes up, Dean is still there, holding Cas tight and snoring slightly. And when he needs to go and get food, Dean is still there, linking their fingers and making eggs one-handed. And when Sam raises his eyebrows at the scene in the kitchen, Dean grips Cas’ hand tighter and tells Sam to get used to it, before flipping him off and turning back to his eggs.

 

Every evening when Cas goes to sleep, and every morning when Cas wakes up, Dean is there with him and somehow, his presence keeps the terrible screaming in Cas’ head at bay. Somehow, he helps Cas heals. Somehow, it all turns out alright.

**Author's Note:**

> This got way darker than I wanted it to, but here we are *shrugs*. Drop me a comment or kudos if you like it, this is based partly on my own experiences with depression.


End file.
